I know these two kids from Russia. Brother and sister. Four years ago they were living on the street, orphaned or abandoned, rejected by an orphanage for the crime of having minor learning difficulties. In Russia there are so many babies without homes that the orphanages don't bother with the imperfect ones.
These two slept in doorways and under cars. They survived by eating garbage, and, once, a rat.
When she was telling me this, she did not get upset, stare numbly into the distance, or even look sad. There is nothing haunted about this kid, not anymore. She looked right at me and said, We ate garbage, and once we ate a rat. But we live here now, and we have a good family, and we don't have to do that ever again.
They live here because an American family accepted them as foster kids, sight unseen. I don't know who got bribed to get them out of Russia, but it worked. The family started adoption proceedings as soon as they could. These kids have parents now, and a new brother and a new sister who are just about their same age.
I don't see them much anymore, because the family moved to a bigger house across town and no longer uses our after-school program. But they come back to visit, and I was lucky to run into them a few weeks ago.
Irena's fine stoic cheekbones are balanced by a button nose like a kitten's. She glides like a queen and smiles a lot. She is nice to everybody, especially little kids. She likes to write stories. Her room is yellow, with flowers.
Ivan, in a red jersey and new sneakers, is electric against the blue sky. He dives to catch a football and could not look more American as he laughs and laughs.
